


How You Get the Girl

by Scavengersdaughter2



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, M/M, Post Season 4, Songfic, sterek, stupid cora and her stupid iPod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavengersdaughter2/pseuds/Scavengersdaughter2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Songfic for a buddy of mine.</p><p>Derek comes back to Beacon Hills after six months abroad.<br/>He is definitely not avoiding a certain teenager.</p><p>OK. He is.<br/>It's time to apologize.<br/>Taylor Swift style.</p><p>How You Get the Girl- Sterek addition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Get the Girl

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic for Taylor Swift's 'How You Get the Girl'.  
> It's a birthday present for my best friend Austin!  
> Happy 17th, my friend!

_“Hey. I’m not here right now. Obviously. I’ll probably get back to you later-”_

“Cora, I know you’re ignoring me. Pick. Up. Your damn phone,” Derek growled. His sister’s automated message was threatening to break the thin string holding him back from a blinding rage.

She was doing this on purpose. What puzzled Derek was, _why_?

He unabashedly glared at the iPod tethered to his Camaro’s center console by a black aux cord. An iPod that did not belong to him; but to his sister.

He could’ve dealt with that. He had the radio.

But every problem in his life came in truck loads. The music incident was no different.

After his return flight to Beacon Hills, his Camaro was in basically the same condition as when he’d left it. ‘Basically’ being the key word.

The radio wouldn’t turn on.

 _But_ , he’d thought, _that’s OK. I still have another way to make this car ride tolerable._

When he found Cora’s iPod, he came very close to losing it.

Maybe it was an accident on her part.

Four ignored calls and six unread messages later, he got the point and the further he drove, the more his 4G cut out.

Damn Braeden and her need to fly under the radar at all times. Quite literally, in that case. At her insistence, they chose a private (and way too small, in Derek’s opinion) plane company that specialized in flying pesticides over fields, not humans over multiple borders. Located in the middle of shit-hole nowhere.

He reluctantly plugged the device in.

The next three hours consisted of cringing, turning off the hideous sound, turning it back on when the silence threatened to drive him over the edge of anger that would definitely result in something or someone being maimed, and cursing everything in the last six months.

He wouldn’t be angry if Cora’s music wasn’t so shitty.

If he was honest with himself, and he usually wasn’t, the anger had been sitting hot at his core for a long time. Not his usual ‘fight tooth and claw for vengeance’ anger, but a low simmering one. One that came from bad decisions, frustration, and misunderstandings. Little things kept snowballing and Derek was at the bottom of a fucking mountain, waiting to be crushed by the avalanche.

Definitely before the iPod.

Probably right around six months ago.

 

Running away with Braeden had seemed like a good idea in the moment.

And the five months they spent together weren’t awful. Not good but they definitely could’ve been worse.

There was a mutual agreement to end the relationship.

Braeden was… she hadn’t been what he wanted.

Or what he _needed_.

Braeden's dangerous side appealed to him, at first. Her strength attracted him, as did her ability succeed in a profession where women were deemed useless. But eventually, the many masks she wore grew predictable. Her charismatically macabre sense of humor just became threats she most likely wouldn’t act on. And what the woman did for a living obviously affected her over the years. She drove straight over the line from suspicion to obsession and another few feet into paranoia. The mercenary questioned him constantly; never quite trusting. Pillow talk became an interrogation.

Her lone-wolf state of mind only further drove a wedge between them.

…And he did realize Braeden was exactly like him. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Two people with major trust issues and enough baggage to fill a jumbo jet were ultimately destined for failure.

He'd visited with his sister over the past month. Pointedly thinking he really did want to spend time with her; not avoid going back to Beacon Hills.

Beacon Hills and Scott’s pack.

He stopped that train of thought before it arrived at a destination he was not going to dwell on. At least, not right now.

Not when crappy pop music was echoing in his head and anger ringing in his heart.

 

 

When he arrived at his loft, he allowed an exhale of relief.

This was his home.

He couldn’t deny it anymore.

The metal door barely squeaked as he rolled it open. Something he noted with suspicion. He investigated the oppressive silence of the space.

Derek was alone but the faint smell of teenage hormones, dust, and microwave popcorn confirmed his thoughts.

The damn heathens had been using his loft as a hang out.

His anger morphed into hurt when he noticed the distinct lack of a certain pale teen’s scent among the others.

 

Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

 

‘He’ was definitely in the chest of memories labeled: ‘Do not think about: will cause feelings you’re not ready to deal with’.

'Probably never will be' should be tacked onto the end.

 

Derek searched his loft for any damage the teens caused but surprisingly, found none (although, he was pretty sure the spindle on the bottom step was never that bent. But considering a literal pack of teenage wolves had been left to their own devices in his home, he considered it a win).

Not so surprisingly, there wasn’t a great wealth of options in the food department. What little there was in the fridge would all be thrown away. Nothing could last half a year and he didn’t trust the supernatural-teenagers to replace whatever they’d taken.

Getting food… meant leaving the loft.

Which meant his purposely unannounced return to Beacon Hills would most likely come to an end.

He estimated at least three days before any of the pack caught wind of his arrival, if he doesn’t go into town, that is.

He respected Scott; anyone so young and willing to lead was impressive. But, even with his true alpha status, he had much to learn. Talia was able to know within hours if a new wolf entered Hale territory. The teen was a little (a lot) slower.

Derek knew of the impending shit storm going to rain down on him when they did find out. All the questions he didn’t have the emotional capabilities to answer. He couldn’t face them, he told himself.

He rarely believed himself.

Derek wasn’t avoiding Scott’s questions or Malia’s probable anger.

He could deal with the majority of the pack.

One, however, had his mind spiraling in a downward-tailspin.

He wasn’t avoiding Beacon Hills; he was avoiding having to confront amber eyes, Cupid ’s bow lips, and a paleness only offset by the light splatter of moles on his face. Dots of color that, Derek suspected, continued under his clothes. Flecks of dark cinnamon on pure cream.

And he slammed the lid on the thought. Best not to be thinking about that right now. Or ever, really.

The ship of a possible romance with Stiles had sailed shortly before he rode into the sunset with Braeden.

There’d been a small spark of hope. When Derek crumpled, convinced he was going to die, the spark was tangible between them. Stiles had turned and their eyes connected. He looked so breakable, so human and Derek was scared. Scared at the thought of loving someone so easily hurt.

He stomped out the spark burning into a small flame as they stared at each other.

Derek didn’t tell him to stay. Didn’t tell him to _just let the other idiots deal with Scott. Stay with me. I want to die at least knowing my fucking love isn’t unrequited._

Of course, Derek may have sunk that ship long before his ‘evolution’.

Each shove or threat of bodily harm was a small bomb dropped on the deck. Though, the instances of each had become almost nonexistent in the months before his leaving. But Hell, he hadn’t sunk the ship. He blasted it into oblivion.

And even if that wasn’t the case, even if there was some chance, however minute, after the whole ‘run, leave me to die, save Scott’ debacle, what happened after solidified the non-existence of the relation- _ship._

He didn’t miss the way Stiles reached out to help, but retreated as Braeden stepped in. He ached for Stiles to be the one to aid him, not her. But…it was for the best.

Everyone surrounding him died. Everyone he cared about. He didn’t want to add Stiles to the list.

So he whisked Braeden away, knowing full well the true object of his desire was untouchable, at least by his tainted hands.

 

His scrutiny ended with a growling stomach. And a realization he would need to put forth more effort than he possessed to make his loft home again.

All fabric needed to be washed.

Almost every hard surface needed cleaning, because apparently the teens were kind enough to break in but not kind enough to help with the god damn upkeep.

He’d have to reprogram his security system because apparently, like his Camaro, sitting in dormancy for half a year rendered anything with a charge useless.

The reminder of his Camaro further soured his mood. His stomach growled again and he put his anger on the back burner. For the moment.

He could do everything else later. His only mission was to go out and get some greasy food he would definitely regret eating.

If Derek was discovered, he’d just tell Scott he was testing him to see how long it would take for the alpha to notice the presence of another wolf in his territory.

The excuse sounded weak, even in Derek’s mind.

Fuck it. He was getting a cheeseburger.

 

He paused in front of his car, keys in hand.

Would it really be so bad if he encountered Stiles?

There was no actual admission of feelings by either party. No reason really to even suspect Stiles liked him back.

And there was no reason for Stiles to suspect Derek even liked _him._

Had he offered an explanation for his vacation? Tactical retreat? Whatever it was?

No. He racked his brain. No, he hadn’t.

Six months with a girl. One who he’d been ‘dating’, or whatever the hell they were.

Derek had run off with his ‘girlfriend’ and no words were offered.

The ship wasn’t just blown into oblivion; the whole ocean it once sailed on was evaporated by the 1,000 nuclear bombs going off as Derek realized what an idiot he was.

Stiles was basically an adult, right? He could form a logical conclusion… other than the one all the facts pointed to. Stiles was good with that, thinking beyond the obvious.

 

Derek’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel was followed by the slight crack of synthetic plastic giving way under the force of his strength. He released the wheel.

The sound of his own breathing and the patter of a light rain beating down on the windows drove him to smash the buttons controlling the radio too forcefully. As expected, nothing happened. His gaze fell on Cora’s iPod. His phone, he’d noted, was dead.

He stopped at a red light and thumbed through her song choices. He’d been mostly on auto pilot hours before; jet lag and anger driving out much of his usual sensory awareness. The music was just a blur of computerized beats and vaguely similar sounding voices. So it had Derek’s brows furrowing as he actually read through her playlist.

_You and I- One Direction_

_Stay with me- Sam Smith_

Did Cora need to tell him something?

_The heart wants what it wants- Selena Gomez_

Based on the titles, they were all about love. Did she forget to mention a boyfriend, or girlfriend?

The title of the last song made him huff out a laugh borne of pure stress. The little devil _had_ done all this on purpose. He suspected she might’ve even had something to do with his radio.

Force him to listen to all these sappy love songs. Make him admit that Derek-I-Don’t-Do-Feelings-Because-I’m-Emotionally-Constipated-Hale was in love…

How did she even find out? His memory was lacking in some areas but he didn’t tell her anything.

Braeden’s parting words resonated in his head.

_“Derek, you don’t really want me. I’m just a distraction. You’ve wanted someone else for a long time.”_

Was his pining that obvious?

Well, then.

Cora could shove it.

He clicked play on the song. She wanted him to listen to it, so he would. He’d play her game.

 

The rhythm was awful.

A female voice started singing. Derek had heard this song before.

On a car ride, Braeden sitting next to him.

He’d turned it after the first line.

_“Standing there like a ghost,_

_Shaking from the rain, rain._

_She’ll open up the door_

_And say are you insane._

_Say it’s been six long months_

_And you were too afraid to tell her what you want.”_

Derek’s stomach clenched.

His anger was replaced by something else. Something more intense, but less likely to end in a fight to the death. Derek did not like this feeling. He didn’t understand it.

He’d prefer a fight any day over whatever it was swirling around his gut.

_“I want you for worse or for better._

_I would wait for ever and ever._

_Broke your heart and I’ll put it back together._

_I would wait for ever and ever.”_

Damn it. What if he’d heard this song the first time? Cora’s imminent punishment for stealing his iPod was slowly being reduced to a text. Maybe thanking her. Maybe cursing her. It was to be determined.

_“Remind her how it used to be._

_With pictures in frames, of kisses on cheeks._

_Tell her how you must’ve lost your mind_

_When you left her alone_

_And never told her why._

_And that’s how it works._

_That’s how you lost the girl.”_

 

Derek drove for two hours. The clock of his dash read 1am.

Taylor Swift was…not giving him courage, per say but she…Who was he kidding?

Her words did loosen something in his chest. He could do it. He could face Stiles.

He’d listened to _How You Get the Girl_ on repeat for the entire drive and anyone who finds out would suddenly find themselves intimately familiar with the inside of a trash bag.

About the time he gathered all of his internal strength was when everything went to shit.

Three blocks away from the Stilinski household was where his Camaro died. The gas gauge was at E and Derek felt like punching his head through the window.

He shut it down and walked. The rain was unpleasant but the thought of Stiles pushed away his discomfort.

 

He ran at full wolf-speed and made it there in seven minutes. Completely soaked, but feeling better than he had in months. Even the prospect of Stiles slamming a door in his face was better than avoiding him further. Causing him further hurt. And maybe that was just Derek being full of himself. Maybe Stiles didn’t like him. Either way, he’d find out.

He was pleased at the absence of a police cruiser and the presence of the death-trap on wheels Stiles called a Jeep.

Derek mounted the steps two at a time and raised his hand to ring the bell but…

What was he going to say?

How could he possibly articulate his feelings into words?

It _was_ his nature to run into places blindly and figure out a plan as he went.

He rang the doorbell without further preamble.

 

Nothing happened.

He waited one minute. And another thirty seconds.

What was he expecting? Who was even awake at two in the morning?

Derek started shaking. Not necessarily from the chill of the rain. Tremors ran up and down his spine.

The sound of bare feet padding across hard word reached his ears.

His heart beat thundered. Stiles, in all of his human glory, could probably hear the deafening _thud thud._

He opened the door and Derek watched with bated breath as the emotions flitted across the other’s face.

Tiredly frustrated. Confused. Frustrated. Very confused.

“Derek?”

He shuddered slightly. His name from Stiles’ mouth sounded so _right._

“Stiles. I’m-”

The teen’s eyes opened wider at the dripping state of Derek’s clothes. “Are you crazy?”

Stiles pulled him into the house, attempting to flee the room and grab a blanket, Derek assumed, despite his high internal temperature. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist, trying so hard to hold himself back. He could break this boy. The bones of his wrist pushed against Derek’s palm. He could damage Stiles beyond repair.

“Stiles. Wait.” He didn’t think the sight of this tired, sleep rumpled Stiles would have him able to find the right words if he stared too long.

The same inquisitive look he’d missed was played for him. Just for him. Stiles’ mouth opened and closed. Even he could tell when to forgo the snark, apparently.

Derek continued before the teen unintentionally wrecked his coherency. “It’s been six months.”

He nodded. Derek was still holding his wrist. He made no move to pull away.

“I’m…Damn it. I’m not good with,” Derek used his free hand to gesture at the two of them, “this.”

Stiles laughed. It was devoid of humor; dripping with anxiety and sarcasm.

“Emotions? Words? Social interaction? All of the above?”

Stiles pulled free. He didn’t look angry. It was something Derek couldn’t place. Something he didn’t like seeing on the delicate features.

Especially because he was the one causing it.

“I was afraid,” Derek started again. Stiles licked his bottom lip but made no further comment.

He continued. “That’s not true. I _am_ afraid. Of you.”

Stiles was so expressive. Derek knew what he was thinking. He hurried to explain.

“I’m afraid of the way you make me feel. I’m…afraid to tell you what I want,” he reiterated.

There was no doubt remaining if Derek’s feelings were reciprocated. Stiles’ expression was unmistakable. But the feeling was from six months ago. Before he ran away.

“That’s not fair, Derek.”

It wasn't. None of this was. Stiles didn't deserve an incapable douche as a first love.

“The werewolf part of my brain is finally taking over. I must’ve lost my mind when I left,” Derek said, attempting humor. He was out of his depth. Way out. So far out he couldn’t swim back, even if he tried.

Stiles was the one to be witty and sarcastic during serious times. Now he was just silent, teeth burrowing into his lip.

Derek placed the emotion. Not anger; hurt.

“I’m sorry I left you. And that I didn’t tell you why.”

Stiles was apparently done being quiet for the time being. “ _Six months,_ Derek. I know you still live in the Middle Ages, but now, we have something called a phone that’s used to tell people you care about ‘hey, I’m ok. I’m just the world’s biggest coward and decided to run away when forced to deal with the prospect of dealing with emotions’.”

Derek felt like a dick, which, he kind of was. Stiles, at least, sensed his remorse and the anger on his face relaxed.

What a sight he must’ve made, standing there, soaking wet. Trying to confess his love to someone almost a decade younger.

“I want you to say it. Say you want me,” Stiles whispered.

“I want you,” Derek assured, voice rougher sounding than usual.

“For worse or better,” he continued. And he _did._

Even the sight of him as the Nogistune, murdering the innocent, couldn’t dispel his feelings. He truly had fallen, so much fucking farther than he thought, for the exquisite boy in front of him.

“I would wait forever.” He stepped closer.

Stiles didn’t move away.

“I broke your heart.”

His eyes were impossibly big when he stared into Derek’s. He was inches away now.

Stiles’ magnetic fragrance drew him closer.

“I’ll put it back together,” Derek drawled, bringing his hand to the slim waist.

“I don’t want you to go again,” Stiles whispered, hands reaching to rest on Derek’s broad shoulders.

He lowered his head, nuzzling the sensitive skin behind Stiles’ ear; chasing more of that irresistible scent.

“I don’t know if things can go back to how they were, Derek. How they used to be. I…”

Derek looked up. He knew what the teen meant; things had changed. Perhaps in a good way.

He moved, stopping centimeters from Stiles’ lips.

“I would wait forever,” Derek breathed.

He moved forward and their mouths connected. Stiles didn’t pull back.

His lips were soft and wet under his own. Derek licked at them; the shudder from Stiles was sending a shockwave through his own body. He nipped at the other’s lips, because he was an ass, and was rewarded with a sharp inhale. The shocked breath opened his mouth and Derek, the opportunist, deepened the kiss.

He tasted like home.

 

Their breath mingled as Stiles pulled away.

“That’s how you get the girl,” he murmured against Derek’s lips.

His head leaned on a well-muscled shoulder. The now-damp bed shirt was an afterthought.

“I didn’t know you were a Taylor Swift fan,” he chuckled, words muffled by wet cloth.

Derek wisely didn’t comment.

 

And that’s how it worked.

That’s how he got the guy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. At least a little bit.
> 
>  
> 
> ...I guess Cora is going to be spared Derek's wrath.
> 
> tumblr: http://evenangelshavescars.tumblr.com


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